Rescue Me
by A. X. Zanier
Summary: "You really believe that, don't you?" she asked in exasperation. "You really believe that Fraser will pull some miracle out of his ass and ride in to save you." Though how she knew he was referring Fraser and not the generic cavalry riding in was beyond him.


A/N: Found this sitting on my hard drive from way back when and decided, what the hell, and post it. While actually #3 in a series, it stands alone just fine, especially since the others will probably never be written. Keep in mind I have not gone through to make changes or edit in any manner, so be prepared for a surfeit of wases to wade through.

. . .

Title: Rescue Me

Author: A. X. Zanier

Rating: R (language)

Fandom: Due South

Pairing: None

Disclaimer: a) The characters and basic story premises of _Due South_ are the property of others including, but not limited to Alliance Atlantis Communications, Baton Broadcasting Inc., CBS Productions, CTV Television Network, and Paul Haggis Productions. Any additional characters or story ideas are mine. I make no money from this intellectual exercise. b) This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any opinions or views expressed herein do not necessarily reflect those of the author and are used for story-telling purposes only.

.

 _ **Rescue Me**_

 _ **.**_

There were lumps in the bed. Hard ones that poked Ray in places that didn't enjoy being poked, and that were forcing him into an unwelcome state of consciousness. He tried to shift in an effort to achieve a more comfortable and less poked-at position, only to have the heretofore unnoticed weight pressing on him from above prevent all but the slightest of movements. Not the pleasant weight of blankets, like that big old down comforter Stella would toss on the bed every November and that remained in place until mid-April and the threat of even a hint of a chill in the air had passed with the turning of the seasons.

He tried shifting again, working his legs free, only to discover an odd discomfort running through every muscle as he moved. Like he'd done the world's biggest belly flop on both sides of his body at the same time. That realization became the rally cry for every other ache and pain, some dull, some sharp and threatening the need for actual medical attention, to come alive. Fuck, he _hurt_. Everywhere.

Opening his eyes, however reluctantly - he had the feeling he didn't really want to know where he was or why, since it wasn't likely to have involved something fun and pleasurable - he saw... not much, actually, just this funky black curtain that hung before his face that did nothing to clear up his confusion. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, trying not to think about why he'd fallen asleep under a silk tassel curtain, and then reopened them, forcing himself to _see_ what was before him.

After a few moments it resolved itself into hair, long black hair matted with blood and twigs, and dirt and bits of other unnamable things caught up in it.

Memory flooded back. The warehouse. The truck. Being stuck in a crate in said truck as it drove off to who-the-hell-knew-where with them inside it. _Them_. Us. Her.

Realizing exactly what, or rather _who_ was pressing down atop him, Ray shifted with stunning adroitness usually seen more often in his partner than himself, and ended up sitting against a tree with an armful of unconscious woman in his lap. He could see the truck, what was left of it anyway, about a hundred feet or so away, the flames having died down from what must have been a spectacular explosion in the not-too-distant-past. There were drag marks, those closer to the truck half-melted into nearly formless nothing as the heat had turned the foot or more deep snow into slush, that led from there to here. Given she'd been on top, it was fair bet he hadn't been the one doing the dragging.

Rynn was bleeding again. Though it looked to be a new injury, and not from the gun induced cold cocking she'd gotten earlier. Not too surprising given the bits and pieces of truck and crates that scattered the snow about them. Some still tossing steam and smoke into the air.

He looked up at the sky, hoping for even the slightest clue as to where they were, but saw only deep gray clouds, not even a hint of the sun to give him time of day. So, they were injured, though he had no idea how bad yet, but he'd put money down on at least a concussion for the lady in his lap. He had a headache of his own and was blind as a bat beyond twelve or so feet out, his glasses and he having parted ways back at the warehouse, there was blood on his sleeves and pants, but how much was his, he hadn't a clue.

They were miles and hours away from their last known location - a warehouse down on the waterfront - though they'd probably driven north based on the depth of the snow, which meant somewhere in Canada most likely. The road the truck had fallen off of, had no guardrail and looked to be little more than an under-maintained back road that led from _hellandgone_ to _themiddleofnowhere_ , and they'd been dumped somewhere in between that was populated by trees and little else. The truck had torn its way down the side of the biggish hill to land on a marginally clear spot at the bottom, but unless someone who gave a damn had noticed the smoke the explosion had given off there wasn't gonna be any help coming in the near future. The burnable parts of the truck still smoldered with the occasional spit of flame, but the nearby trees, heavily coated in snow before being assaulted by the rampaging vehicle, hardly look singed. The weight of melting snow dampening even the vigorous flames fueled by gasoline and the dry as dust wood of which the crates had been made.

It had been late morning when they'd hit the warehouse so... Ray pulled up his sleeve on the off chance his watch had survived to this point (it hadn't), sighed, and best guessed they had an hour, maybe two until sunset and the temperature dropped from fucking cold to _really_ fucking cold.

Head clearing with the surge of adrenaline the sudden realization that they were in big trouble had caused, he continued to put the pieces together. No one knew they'd been heading to the warehouse, except in a vague sort of way - it'd been on the list of places to look, is all - so no one would know they were missing for hours yet. The guys who were expecting the truck with it's illegal shipment and unwelcome guests would surely come looking for it and they'd know the route, unlike the good guys who wouldn't be looking for them.

They were so _fucked_.

Unless...

Fraser seemed to have this... radar or something when it came to trouble. At least when it came to Ray being in trouble. Maybe, just maybe he'd be able to put the widely scattered pieces together and mount a rescue. It wasn't like he hadn't known what they'd been working on, he just hadn't been there with them today, which in retrospect had turned out to be a less than stellar (Shit. What would Stella think when they found his ass frozen like some weird ice sculpture, or worse after the thaw, the local carnivorous wildlife having taken it's share - though Fraser would find it oddly circle of life or something, Ray's dead and decaying carcass granting life to some cousin of Dief, or some shit like that. Would she cry? Realizing, finally, that she should never have left him? Would she even care?) plan.

Ray grunted. Not true. He was more than capable of doing his job without Benton Fraser at his side every waking moment. It was more fun having him there, couldn't argue that, but still, he'd made detective all on his own, thank you very much. Same was true for Rynn, though you'd need to stick the word "private" before detective in her case, she'd been the one to find the warehouse location, after all, and she could've gone by herself to check it out, made sure it was viable lead before coming to Ray. A'course then she'd be in this boatload (or would that be truckload?) of trouble alone.

She grumbled something just then and opened her eyes, for which Ray felt kinda thankful since he'd been getting a bit worried about her continued lack of wakefulness and been terrified that if he tried he wouldn't succeed. Dealing with an unconscious and dead weight Rynn would have been far, _far_ different than a conscious and injured one. She lay there for a long moment, just looking up at him, then turned a beautiful shade of green that matched the flora about them almost perfectly. With more speed than he'd thought possible, she jerked up and off him, stopping just a couple feet away, where she made a valiant effort to hurl up every internal organ in her body and those belonging to a few others. Not exactly a good sign, healthwise, for her.

There wasn't much he could do for her beyond hold her hair out of her face and offer what little moral support she'd be willing to accept. When she finally finished, obvious blood speckling the snow that he hoped came from her head wound and not something internal, because, while a concussion would be bad, internal injuries would kill her out here, he just pulled her back into his arms and held her. It was comfort _he_ needed almost as much as he needed to give.

"How bad?" he finally asked, certain he didn't want to know the answer, even though it was a necessary bit of information at this juncture.

"Bad enough," she told him voice raw with pain. "We can't stay here," she added after a moment.

"I know," he agreed, though he had no clue what the hell else to do. Staying here would give them the best chance to be found, though they couldn't risk being found by Buchanan's people. The chances they would be so lenient to just shove them into another crate for shipment was nonexistent. He and Rynn would have to be proactive and try to save themselves, or at least keep themselves mostly alive until rescue arrived.

"Snow's coming. That'll cover our tracks some."

The confidence in her voice sounded underwhelming to say the least. Clearly, she expected the worst, no matter that she... they had managed to wiggle out of tougher spots than this.

"It'll also freeze our asses off," he told her tartly, shooting for humor.

She snorted, showing he'd hit the mark dead on, but she sobered quickly. "They're going to come after us."

Ray knew she was _not_ referring to Huey, Dewey, Welsh, et al. "Yeah. Let's not make it easy for them, huh?"

She nodded, carefully, the knock her noggin had taken probably not liking too well the up and down motion, and encouraging her stomach to try and get rid of last week's food on top of everything else. Be a good idea to keep that from happening he was sure.

He got a good grip and pushed/shoved her upright. Her legs wobbled a bit, but she held steady, even offering him a hand and helping him to his feet. His legs shook for a few seconds, not enjoying the shift to vertical at first. He had a fair sized gash across his left thigh, but it had long since stopped bleeding. The assorted other bumps and bruises made themselves known, but none seemed life-threatening.

"Well, at least there's a bright side to this disaster," Ray said as he looked over the top of her head - he kept forgetting how damn tall she was - to survey the area. Still wasn't much to see, just trees and snow and more trees and more snow. The road was a near vertical climb that he was not looking forward to making. It was also damn quiet, just the sounds of their breathing, and the hiss crackle of the burning truck. There wasn't even a breath of wind, the smoke and steam drifting lazily about and only moving upwards because it was warmer than the frigid air about it.

"And what could that possibly be?" She turned about to look at him, one arm reaching out to settle on the tree as support. He could tell she was having trouble focusing, another less than good sign that she most likely had earned herself a concussion.

"You can pee now." A few hours into the unplanned road trip she'd complained about the need to hit the little girl's room, which had led into a discussion about how that need was never portrayed on TV or in movies, especially with female characters whose bladders were notoriously smaller than those of their male compatriots. It had been an odd if useful distraction for her discomfort.

She snorted in laughter. "So I can." She pointed a finger at him. "Stay, and no peeking."

He nodded, not about to argue, but mentally setting a time clock as she wandered deeper into the trees and brush. If she hadn't returned in a reasonable amount of time, he'd go after her and to hell with privacy concerns. She was hurt pretty damn bad and just one misstep and he'd be dealing with a dead Rynn instead of a live one. And he had to admit he liked her alive.

Since it seemed like the thing to do, he moved a few steps away from their tree and answered a call of nature himself, pleased to find no difficulty doing so. He also gave himself the once over. The cut on his leg was shallow, but had bled like crazy, his pant leg soaked with blood. Looked like some debris had winged him when the truck had exploded based on the singed look to the denim. He had bruises on his chest, cuts on his hands and forearms and the right side of his face was numb, but since it had been buried in snow for several minutes, that wasn't too much of a surprise. Overall he'd do. Nothing hurt so bad he couldn't move, but he didn't exactly feel great either. A doctor would be nice, if impossible right now.

Rynn came stumbling out of the woods, using every tree to support herself, blood still trickled down the side of her face, and she seemed to be stuck tipped to the left. He'd bet even money she had a headache that no amount of aspirin could put a dent in. She needed a doctor and now. Instead, she'd gotten stuck with him and his limited skills at first aid.

"You're going to have a black eye, Kowalski." She reached up to cautiously probe at his right cheekbone.

He yelped, and flinched away. It hurt like a sonofabitch and then some. Guess the numbness had been caused from the swelling instead of the cold. Great, just great. "I'll survive," he assured her, "Will you?"

She shrugged, leaning back against the tree. "Head's pretty bad. Got some lovely bruises and cuts here and there as well, but the head's the worst."

"Two good knocks in a day will do anyone in. Just be glad it's still intact." He certainly was. He held up an assortment of fingers. "How many do you see?"

"Too," she answered.

He was holding up four. "Two? Are you sure?"

"Yep, I'm seeing way _too_ many."

She tried to slide down the tree, but he surged forward and held her upright. "How many?" he repeated with more force.

She didn't struggle, didn't fight, just stood there, the tree and him supporting way more of her weight than her legs. "Four..."

Well that wasn't too bad...

"...of you," she finished.

He revised his previous "not too bad" to an "Oh, shit," that he hadn't even realized he'd said out loud.

"Deep shit. I don't know how far I'll make it." She straightened a bit, hands pressed firmly against the bark of the tree. "Maybe... maybe you should go for help... on your own."

Ray shook his head violently. "Not gonna happen. I'm not leaving you out here alone."

"To die you mean," she said blandly. "Look, you stay we'll both die. You go, you at least stand a chance. And don't forget, someone has to get word to the authorities about Buchanan's operation. That was the whole point of going to the warehouse in the first place, remember?"

Damn it, she sounded just like Fraser in moments like these. Duty before self. Always and forever. A little selfishness never hurt anyone, or so Ray believed. What was it they said? Everything in moderation? That included being a dumb fuck who put duty above and beyond even basic things like survival. Why he put up with either of them, some days he just didn't know.

"Yeah, I remember. I also remember that we got in this together and together is how we're gonna get out of it. Understand me?"

He could see that she wanted to protest, to argue that it was foolish and that her plan was the most pragmatic, but she also knew him well enough to tell when he'd do the stubborn thing and push until she gave in, so she just nodded.

"So what do we do?" she asked. "Our options are pretty limited, as are our defensive capabilities."

"Still have that knife?"

That's how they'd gotten out of their bindings in the crate. The bozos that had patted her down had missed her boot sheath, it had simply taken some creative contortions to get it and free themselves. Of course, they'd still been trapped in the crate in the truck, (in the crate, in the truck, sounded like some weird Seuss story) but even the small amount of freedom gained had eased their concerns.

Rynn carefully leaned down and checked. "Yes, for what little good it'll do us."

"Something's better than nothing, right?"

"Kowalski..."

He cut her off. "We just got to stay alive until someone, preferably someone not wanting us dead, finds us, right?"

"Yes, but..."

"How hard can it be?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Very. We have two real choices, stay here, keep the fire going, make a shelter and hope we're found, or strike out, following the road by preference, and hope we find safety before the weather or our injuries do us in."

Both options had their good and bad points. Staying meant risking Buchanan's goons finding them, the results of which would be bad. Leaving included that same risk, plus those of exhaustion and exposure taking their toll and doing them in before they made it far at all. "You sure there's a storm coming?"

She nodded. "Should start snowing by midnight, if we are where I think we are."

"You know where we are?" Why hadn't she said so before now?

"Not really, just an approximate based on snow depth, the look of the land and flora. Where we are in relation to civilization, I haven't a clue."

"Oh. Canada?"

"Yes, north of Sault Ste. Marie, I think. We were in the truck about eight hours, so we could be pretty much anywhere, and it's mostly wilderness up here."

Eight hours. Someone would know they, or at least he, had gone missing by now, maybe even two or three hours ago. Not too bad. They'd have to do some legwork to figure out what he'd been doing today, but once they had the pieces, they'd just have to follow the trail. They'd be able to trace his cell phone to the warehouse, where it'd been tossed aside after he'd been caught, along with his gun, badge and anything else potentially useful, along with all of Rynn's stuff. Her Bronco and his GTO parked down the block. That they'd been there would be obvious. Where they'd gone would be a bit more tricky, but they'd figure it out. Fraser would figure it out. Licking and smelling shit until he found the trail.

Shoot, Ray wouldn't be surprised if the two of them were snug and warm in their own beds by morning.

"They'll find us." Meaning Fraser would.

"You really believe that, don't you?" she asked in exasperation. "You really believe that Fraser will pull some miracle out of his ass and ride in to save you." Though how she knew he was referring Fraser and not the generic cavalry riding in was beyond him.

Ray just stared at her. He had no clue what it was that put the two of them at odds, neither had ever said, but he was beyond tired of it. He was sorely tempted, when this was all over and they were back home safe, of course, to toss the two of them in a room with an assortment of weaponry and let 'em just have it out. Provided he could watch, that is. Though knowing the two of 'em, they'd just sit there glaring at each other until Ray got bored and turned them loose. As individuals, they drove Ray up a wall at times, but together... He'd part with neither of them, but some days he was certain he'd never be able to live with the both of them.

"Save _us_ ," Ray corrected in a quiet voice. " _Rescue us_. We're in deep shit here, in case you haven't noticed..."

"Oh, I've noticed," she assured him,

"... but I _know_ Fraser will find us," he finished, locking eyes with hers.

"Kowalski, you're insane to think he's even got a clue that we're missing, much less find us out here in the middle of nowhere." She wrapped her arms about herself, fear coloring her words and flashing in her eyes for an instant.

Ray didn't know what to say, what to do to convince her. He _knew_ they'd get out of this and that somehow someway Fraser would be instrumental in it happening.

"Do you trust me?" he asked.

That startled her, like it was a question she never expected to hear from him, and it was clear she had to think about her answer.

"Yes, I do," she finally said, her voice unexpectedly soft.

"Then trust me on this. Fraser _will_ find us."

She pondered that statement for several long minutes, then nodded. Just one quick up and down that he would have missed if he'd blinked. "Think it's okay if we try to assist though? I really don't want to be here when Buchanan's boys show up to find what's left of their truck."

Ray smiled grimly. He couldn't agree more.

. . . . .

Ultimately it was her injuries that decided their course of action. After taking the time to patch each other up the best they could, she'd barely been able to stand, much less climb up out of the valley and to the road. They had no choice, they would have to wait and hope someone found them. He salvaged everything he could from the truck, rigging together a shelter from bits of crates, metal siding from the trailer, and pine boughs he cut from trees with the knife. He packed snow around it, dredging up from his memory that snow could be used as an insulator, if done right, and thanked god the weather stayed relatively warm. Felt like the storm was gonna consist of fluffy snow that drifted lazily down instead of painfully sharp pellets driven by bitter cold wind. The fake warmth could be dangerous, lulling them into a sense of safety, but was still preferable to a thirty degree temperature drop as the front pushed through.

Rynn helped as much as she could, but it clearly took its toll. After she'd stopped for a second time to vomit up the nonexistent contents of her stomach, Ray ordered her to sit and let him finish; she argued, but gave in with comparatively little fight. He completed his tasks just as darkness fell. Not that it was all that dark. The clouds were oddly bright and the remains of the truck glowed as if with banked embers, plus the tiny fire he'd built on the warped hood of the truck just outside their shelter lent an almost cheery air to the evening. Provided one didn't recall that they were out in the wilderness, in the middle of winter with inappropriate clothes, no food and no water. Oh, snow abounded and could be used to ease thirst, but at the risk of lowering their internal body temperature, which he knew must be avoided at all costs.

They'd survive the night relatively unscathed and reassess their situation in the morning. Assuming some roving pack of wolves didn't stumble across them during the night and decide they'd hit the proverbial jackpot. He'd heard howling in the far distance twice since the light had faded to gloomy, glowy darkness, but it hadn't sounded any closer. They'd be fine, he was certain of it.

Rynn twitched and jerked back into consciousness with a grunt, she'd been in and out for the last couple of hours, not that he'd let her sleep for long should she actually manage to do something other than pass out. "You okay?" he asked, his breath glowing gold in the dim firelight.

She crawled over to him where he sat in the doorway of their jury-rigged lean-to and curled up against his back, resting her chin on his shoulder. "Why haven't we gone camping before, Kowalski?"

He snorted. " 'Cause we both prefer room service to pissing behind trees?"

"Oh yeah." She slipped her hands under his jacket and shivered violently against his back.

"Your hands are like ice," he groused, but instead of jerking away, he covered them with his own, rubbing them to get the blood circulating.

She just shivered harder. They sat that way for long minutes, her shivers slowly easing as she began to warm up. He didn't know what to say, or what to do. He was well and truly out of his depth on this one. He wanted to be moving, to be doing _something_ that would get them out of this situation, but he was stuck, by choice admittedly, but it still chafed to be _sitting_ instead of _doing_. Even now, he wanted to be up and pacing about their tiny excuse of a camp, trying to make it to the road and flag down that one stray vehicle that might just drive by.

Rynn set a cold nose against the back of his neck. "Sorry, Ray."

The Ray startled him; she almost never used his first name, instead of Kowalski. Shit, it had taken effort on her part to remember to call him Vecchio when in the squad room or out about town, the moment there was even a hint of privacy the Kowalski made its inevitable appearance.

"Rynn..." He shook his head; leave it to her to get it into her thick, possibly brain-damaged skull that this had been her fault. "Last I checked, this was my case and I asked _you_ to help. Not the other way 'round."

She sighed heavily, breath warm on the back of his neck. "I know, but it's my fault you're stuck here fidgeting."

"I told ya, I ain't leaving you here alone." Before she could come up with some, probably valid, argument for her case, he added, " 'Sides, your brothers would injure me if I did and they found out."

She managed a soft chuckle, ending with a sucked in breath that Ray knew meant pain. He didn't want to dwell on it since there was absolutely nothing he could do beyond making her comfortable and protecting her until real help arrived. Come morning her head might be better, but whatever possible internal injuries she had would surely be worse. He hated to admit it, but she was right, there was a fair chance he would be forced to strike out on his own to find rescue, god help her. Find help and then find his way back here, whereeverthefuck here was. The shit was deep and they were sinking in further every second he sat here.

 _Come on, Fraser, find us._

Speaking, or thinking, rather, of Fraser, maybe now would be the time to have a bit of a talk with Rynn about his partner. Twisting slightly to catch her eye, he wriggled them about until sitting side-by-side arms curled about each other for warmth. She winced a couple times during the process and he could tell, though he had no clue how, exactly, that she was favoring her left side. Maybe a couple cracked ribs, maybe worse, he wasn't going to ask and even if he did, he was willing to bet she wouldn't tell, not wanting to worry him with whatever other injuries she might have sustained. Given the way he'd flipped over her head injury, he could understand, no matter how stupid the stubbornness might be, why.

"Why don't you like Fraser?" he finally asked, after several minutes of silence.

She stiffened, hissed in pain, grumbled something deprecating under her breath then sighed heavily. That alone spoke volumes; too bad Ray hadn't a clue how to interpret it.

"When did I ever say I didn't 'like' Fraser?"

Ray snorted. "Apple, you're so stiff around him you're starched."

She fell quiet for so long Ray thought she must be pissed, but when he shifted to look at her face, her brows were knitted together in thought, which meant the answer was gonna be long and complicated.

"Remember when you introduced us?"

How could Ray forget? Outside a church, middle of the afternoon and she'd barely given the Mountie, who almost inevitably caused most women to turn into a puddle of goo complete with drool running down their chins at first sight, a second glance after her "at least he's pretty," and snarky comment about Ray "switching teams." That having been odd enough, she'd gone on to treat Fraser just like every other guy she'd dealt with, and... and...

"Huh."

"Huh, indeed. I treated him just like a treat everyone else and he looked at me as if I were anathema."

Ray wasn't quite sure what "anathema" meant, Rynn had a tendency to use words he had to go look up later (just like an average day with Fraser), but he got the gist. "Rynn, that overly-formal attitude is how he treats everyone, especially people he's just met." _Goes double for women_ , he didn't add.

She shook her head. "I've seen how he interacts with you and the other guys at the station, the women too. He's polite and formal, but not like he is with me."

Ray had to think about it for a few minutes, but realized she had the right of it. Frase had known Rynn for a few months now, hell had worked with her, helped her with the Garabaldi case, just about saved her life, and yet he still treated her with a formality that made little sense, almost as if he were intentionally trying to keep some distance from her. "You're right."

" 'Course I am." She rested her head against his arm. "I just treat him the same way he treats me. Period. I've given up trying to count him as a friend since he clearly wants no part of it. Colleague, and a formal, distant one at that, is all he wants, so _that_ is what he gets."

"Oh, Rynn..." Ray shook his head, not sure how to explain that with Fraser the more formal, the more those emotions that he remained terrified of were tied up in the situation, or in this case, person. Victoria had burned him badly, a wrong choice that had nearly cost him his life and left him permanently scarred, and not just because of the bullet stuck in his back. He was terrified of having that happen again, of allowing feelings for a woman, or for anyone really, to so color his emotions that he failed to think rationally. Rationality would always be what Fraser thrived on; well, that and duty. Hiding behind excessive formality just Fraser's way of protecting himself.

But Ray didn't want to tell Rynn all that, it wasn't his place, but it was clear, now that he'd taken the time to actually _look,_ that his partner, quite possibly, had a thing for the plucky young maiden sitting next to him. And didn't _that_ just turn all of reality on its head.

"Let's just say, he's formal with you because he's not sure how else to act, 'kay?"

In fact, Ray wasn't quite thrilled his partner had ( _might have_ , all this was just speculation, remember?) taken a shine to Rynn, especially since he'd had his share of thoughts in that direction himself. Ones he'd tried to banish and ignore, ones he most certainly had no intention of acting upon, but still, he _had_ had them. Though, maybe just getting laid (Frase too, if that could be possible) might take care of most of the problem.

"I like a girl so I treat her like shit. Yeah, that's the way to go." The irritation in her voice was palpable (one of those words he'd had to look up after Fraser had thrown it out), but so wasn't the exhaustion.

"Get some sleep," he told her, trying to make it sound like an order.

She shook her head. "I'll take watch."

"No, you're injured-"

"Which is why _you_ need to sleep. If someone finds us, especially Buchanan's boys, you need to be as rested as possible to save our asses," she explained, rushing over his argument.

And, damn it, she was right. If all she had to do was tend the fire and listen for the sounds of an approaching vehicle, she'd be fine. The pile of wood had been left within easy reach, so she wouldn't have to move much, and he'd be right here if she needed him. That was weird enough; self-sufficiency was something she prided herself on, having to rely on anyone for help... Well, it just wasn't Rynn.

"All right." He untangled himself from her; her hands had still been tucked under his jacket, and squirmed into the shelter. The scent of pine needles wafting upwards as he crushed them with knees and elbows. He shifted about until his head rested near her, his body curled up to conserve as much heat as possible. "Wake me in two hours."

"Sure, Ray."

He knew she wouldn't, would let him sleep until the dawn if she could, but he pretended that she hadn't lied. No, not lied, really, since she would just _happen to_ _forget_ or _lose track of time_ instead. He'd done it himself many times over the years, so he said nothing, trusting that she knew her limitations in her current condition. He let his eyes drift shut, and just as sleep (shit, who was he kidding, he had achieved a state of utter exhaustion at this point) stole him away he heard her say,

"It's snowing."

. . . . .

It was dark, pitch black, no light penetrating the crate in which he knew himself to be trapped. _Themselves_. He could sense someone else with him; their feet tangled together in the tight space, knees bumping as the truck swayed drunkenly along the road. He'd never been claustrophobic, but in the dark, in a tiny box he'd been forced to sit in, (standing would incur the wrath of the lid with a sharp rap to the top of the skull) he couldn't help but feel that the walls were not-so-slowly closing in, and that, without warning, they'd shift inward, crushing him, leaving nothing but a bloody smear of goo wrapped in clothes. They'd been in here for _hours_ ; how many he had no idea, but long enough for his legs and buttocks and lower back to cramp up, needing to be stretched and shifted to ease the discomfort. Yet no release came. Just more darkness, more silence; the air becoming more stifled and thick with every stuttered intake of breath. The sound of the road hissing beneath them, taking them further and further from home, from the bright lights and sounds of Chicago.

The fear built and built with no outlet for escape. He had to remain calm, show nothing of the terror he felt inside, for to permit it freedom would allow it to double, even treble in strength. And what of her? Having two hysterical people in a small box would probably not be a good thing. She couldn't be faring any better than himself; no matter how calm her breaths came, or the soft susurration of her voice across the short distance separating them.

He drew courage from her apparent lack of fear, from the knowledge that he was not alone in this, that the space must not be getting smaller by the moment simply based on the fact that she had been forced no closer.

It was then, as his confidence returned, that the world fell from beneath them.

Ray jerked awake with a barely stifled shout, only to have a hand clamped over his mouth to contain the non-existent sound that tried to escape. Maybe that shout hadn't been as stifled as he'd thought.

He gently removed her hand and shifted upright. "Sorry, bad dream. What's up?"

Rynn nodded towards the road invisible in the darkness and falling snow. "Company."

That woke the rest of Ray up completely. Rescue, be it strangers or friends, would be most welcome. He was actually surprised at how rested he felt, which meant she, as predicted, had allowed him to sleep far longer than the two hours he'd requested. The pile of wood, was noticeably smaller, though the fire no bigger, the same barely there flames and warm embers, just enough to give them warmth to survive. He tried to ignore how pale and wan she looked, even in the warm glow of the fire she looked ghostly, and he was now certain had sustained injuries she had not told him about.

"Rynn..."

She shook her head and he shut up. He crawled out, straightened, stretched, and yawned wide enough to make his jaw crack in discomfort. "Stay here, I'll be back ASAP."

She rolled her eyes. "And where, exactly, would I go?"

"Good point." Still he frowned down at her for a long moment, unable to hide his concern, then turned and headed for the road.

The fire in the truck had long since gone out; the snow falling from above having extinguished the last sputtering remains, leaving the entire area dark. With the snowfall, (nearly four inches if he were to venture a guess) the clouds had lost their eerie glow, so, once away from their micro-campfire, he paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the enveloping darkness. It wasn't as bad as being in the crate, no feeling of the walls closing in about him, the snow giving him some sense of light versus dark, and, as he waited, the tree line became visible. He could hear voices and thought he could see lights bobbing about through the trees, and headed in that direction. The level surface of the valley didn't last long once among the trees. He could have stayed on the trail created by the truck's destructive path down the mountainside, but chose to remain within the cover of the trees, using them as support as the climb steepened. If there was the slightest possibility their company was foe, instead of friend he wanted to make certain there was little chance of being spotted.

He chose a slight angle that would meet up with the edge of the damaged area the newcomers were using to make their way downhill, making his careful way along, alert for any surprises. The voices came through perfectly clear even with the snow falling about them.

"... you sure this is the place?" The accent was decidedly French.

"Gotta be. Last hit on the GPS was within a hundred yards of where something went off the road. And we both know this wasn't here a week ago."

 _Not good._ Ray noted absently, doing his stealthy best to get closer without being seen.

The first voice spoke again. "Buchanan is gonna be pissed if this load is damaged."

Buchanan. Not the good guys, then. "Shit," Ray swore softly, not bothering to move any further up the hill. These were not people he wanted to run into weaponless, even with the slight advantage of surprise on his side. He could only hear two voices, but there were lights for at least a half dozen others.

Ray went back down the hill a hell of a lot faster than he'd gone up it. He stumbled and slid, grabbing at trees to slow his descent; only twice ending up on his ass in the snow, though the second time resulted in snow up the back of his shirt and down his pants. The icy chill only seemed to spur him into moving faster.

He used the momentum from the hill to virtually race across the flat of the valley, heedless of the snow up to his knees, in mere seconds, to the tiny flickering fire that was his target. He skidded to a stop, the pine needles buried under the snow making the surface slicker than he expected, scooped up a double-handful of snow and dropped it on the flames; snuffing them with an irritated hiss and burst of steam.

"Not the cavalry, I take it?"

Ray kicked more snow on the fire, making certain it had truly been extinguished and in a vague attempt to hide the chunk of trunk hood. The pile of wood and shelter were already covered in snow and about as camouflaged as they were going to get, so he didn't even bother with them. His tracks were visible, even in the gloom, but blended with the dozens of others scattered about, all filled to various degrees and the continued snowfall would only add to that. New and old would be nearly indistinguishable from each other in minutes. Plus, he was counting on all those tracks, the dozens of trails they'd made into and out of the woods, needed them if they were to have any chance of getting out of this.

Ray had a plan.

Not a great one, admittedly, but the only one he'd been able to come up with given their situation and lack of tools. No matter how much he would have liked to Rambo the bad guys, they just hadn't had the strength or wherewithal to do so. Thus leading him to the only other real option: retreat.

 _Those that fight and run away, live to fight another day,_ echoed through his skull in a voice that sounded eerily like Fraser's, though the wording was definitely all Ray's. Either way it was their only hope.

"Nope." He held out his hands. She took the gesture for what it was, grasped his forearms and allowed him to pull her upright. She winced visibly, even in the darkness. "You okay?" Yeah, he was worried. The plan would be useless if it saved only one of them.

"Good as it gets," she informed him, her teeth gritted against the pain she refused to verbally acknowledge. "Which way, Kemosabe?"

Ray snorted in amusement, slung an arm about her waist, and got them moving deeper into the forest. He hoped like hell he could remember the route in the dark. There were a couple false starts, but he eventually hit on the correct set of tracks. He chafed at the loss of time, but knew the random footprints just created would only add to the confusion, and confusion to the enemy had been the key to this idea.

Eventually, he found the damned tree. It was one of the few that weren't evergreens; an ancient oak, its leaves dead and brown still hanging from the branches. The new growth in the spring would push off the old, unlike most whose leaves fell off come the fullness of autumn. Sometimes listening to Fraser was useful. Today it might save their asses.

The lowest branch stretched over their heads, one good jump away. Ray had made certain he could reach it and had climbed up earlier, so, once sure Rynn could stand on her own, set himself and leapt straight up, getting numb fingers about the branch and pulling himself up high enough to hook a leg over. He shifted about, lying along the branch, legs and one arm wrapped securely about it and reached down with the other.

Rynn looked up at him, her face, framed by her black hair, as white as the snow she stood upon. "Ray..."

"You can do this," he told her, putting every ounce of confidence he had into his voice.

She nodded tightly, gathered herself, and leapt. Twice she missed, not quite getting the height needed from a standing position. The third time she took a few steps back, her breathing harsh, then shot forward, and with perfect timing jumped, her hand smacking into his solidly. She swung at first, but managed some trick with her momentum and stopped it before Ray could lose his hold. She had nothing to grab onto and hung too far from the trunk to use it for leverage, which meant Ray had to dead lift her with one arm.

He groaned, pulling up slowly and steadily, her holding perfectly still until the branch came within her grasp. Once certain she had a secure hold, Ray still tightly holding her other hand, she swung a leg up and over, damn near kicking him in the face to accomplish it. With his help she managed to get up and sit on the branch legs dangling down on either side. She had wrapped one arm about herself, head tipped down and a high pitched hitching came from her.

All Ray could do was steady her, a hand on her shoulder, until she got control back. When she lifted her head he could see the tear tracks down her cheeks, but with a severe lack of anything he could do, he simply leaned forward and set his forehead against hers, providing what little comfort and companionship he could.

She pulled away first, raw emotion in her eyes. "Now what?" she finally managed. "I'm not exactly the sitting duck type."

He dredged up a smile from somewhere, though the fragile tone of her voice seriously frightened him. He almost wished that she had no clue how much trouble they were in, while thanking any god willing to listen that she did. She hadn't asked a single question, had just followed his lead, trusting that he knew what he was doing.

 _Christ, I hope I know what I'm doing._

He got to his feet, the branch more than wide enough to stand on comfortably, and with plenty of handholds in easy reach. "We climb. You'll see the spot we want."

She nodded and allowed him to support her as she stood. Then they climbed, slowly but steadily upwards. Ray right behind her, literally, his body overlapped hers, his head about her mid-back, in case she slipped or lost her grip. If she fell, he was pretty damn certain she wouldn't be getting back up.

Fifteen feet or thereabouts up the main trunk split off in multiple directions creating a fair-sized bowl now filled with a few inches of snow. There would be just enough room for the two of them to sit within, legs dangling down to either side between the branching out trunks. Rynn climbed in, his hand set on her back until she had settled, leaning forward against one of the larger uprights. Ray slid in behind her, wrapping his arms about her for warmth. The air was still except for the snow drifting down, but it was still noticeably colder than their pitiful fire and shelter. He could only hope Buchanan's men would give up the hunt quickly, 'cause they wouldn't last up here for very long.

He leaned over slightly and looked down at the ground far below them. The cover wasn't nearly as great as he had hoped, but in the darkness should be more than adequate. If they hung out until sunrise, however... Well, he just wouldn't think about that right now, would he?

He rested his chin on her shoulder, close to her ear, and whispered, "You okay, Apple?"

She sighed heavily, or would have had not the intake of breath caused what could only be interpreted as pain, the breath coming out in a series of short hitches, instead of the long exhale pointing out the sheer idiocy of his question. "No, Ray, I'm not, but there isn't anything either of us can do about right now, is there?" The sardonic tone nearly hid the pain that she valiantly, but failingly tried to hide.

He shifted, pressing his face against hers in what he hoped she'd interpret as comfort. "Sorry for the bad case of the stupids, but you got me worried."

"Got me worried too, Ray. If it weren't for the imminent threat of death, I'd suggest we surrender to them instead of a strategic retreat." She tipped her head and rubbed her face alongside his, not minding the scratchiness of the stubble adorning his cheeks.

He had to admit, if only to himself, that he had indeed considered that option, and if the chances had been even a minimum of fifty/fifty he would have surrendered instead of climbing trees in the dark, in a snowstorm, with both of them injured, tired, and cold. But he'd run the numbers over and over and had come up with their chances being zero or less that they'd be left alive. He could think of only one instance that would save their skins provided Buchanan's bully-boys didn't just eliminate the problem (them) first and worry about questions (i.e. complications) later: that they'd already gotten word out to someone about what had really been going on at that warehouse. Which, sadly, they hadn't, but he'd play that card if needed and lie for all he was worth in order to buy them just a few more precious moments of time.

"This'll work," he stated, not really believing the words, but clinging to the ephemeral (another word Fraser had sent him to a dictionary to look up) hope that rescue would be arriving in that proverbial nick of time. "We just have to wait for them to get bored and leave. It's not like there's anything left to save from the truck, 'cept the very dead driver." Not that there'd been much left, the body had been crushed and burned to a crisp in the resulting fire.

"Until they find our little camp," she pointed out, tone dry, but teeth chattering as the cold forced its way in, his body heat added to hers not helping much at all.

"Maybe... maybe they won't find the driver and think it's _his_ camp." Quite possible, Ray reasoned. They'd barely recognized the body for what it was in the daylight, and given the trailer of the truck had burned far worse that the cab, Buchanan's boys might just conclude that the driver had survived, while the human cargo had perished in the accident and inferno. Hard to tell the difference between footprints from two different people and one under these conditions. They'd just be tracks, and that could only work to their advantage.

"Maybe," she agreed, though it seemed to be more to end the conversation than actual agreement on her part as she sagged in his hold, what little energy she'd been able to muster to perform this retreat bottoming out and leaving her exhausted.

"Just hold on, can you do that for me?"

She nodded, clearly not having the energy to answer verbally and relaxed into his firm hold, taking from him what little comfort and warmth she could get.

They remained silent for long minutes, growing colder by the moment, the snow actually building up upon them they remained so still and just about the time Ray had decided to go check things out he heard voices coming from somewhere nearby. Rynn twitched in surprise as she heard them as well.

"Shh," he warned, his voice so soft he couldn't be certain she'd heard him, but she followed the dictate anyway, her body stiff and still, breathing short and shallow as if afraid even the subtle sounds of air passing through her lungs would give away their location. Ray doubted that, but given he'd forgotten to breathe himself in the same instinctive reaction, he had no reason to admonish her.

Cursing came next, in French, confirming, to Ray anyway, that these were indeed Buchanan's bully-boys. The cursing was followed with the hiss-crackle of radio static and tinny voice wafting out of the crappy speaker, " _We've got company_."

Seconds later something whizzed by Ray's right ear and he nearly reached up to swat at the thing, thinking the buzz belonged to a bee or fly, never mind the impossibility of that in this weather, until a solid thunk in the tree above and to his left gave him the clue he needed. _'Bullet!"_ his brain screamed at him, his body sending a burst of adrenaline and making him want to dive for cover, only there wasn't any to be had besides the limbs of the big ol' tree they were now indeed playing sitting ducks in.

"Shit," he muttered, trying to make himself as small as possible without moving or giving away their position to those below. Two more shots went by, this time followed by the distinctive pops of a handgun, somewhere across the valley. For an instant he nearly shouted, 'watch out,' but kept his mouth shut, not wanting to regain the interest of the men who had been close enough to hear them just moments before. Rynn grunted then, her body shifting back and against him for an instant, before resuming her original position leaning against the upright trunk.

Though given they'd been shot at several times now, they must have been seen. Something felt off about that, though. It only took him a couple seconds to figure it out - the angle was wrong. If those shots had come from below, the one that had gone past his ear would have headed skyward, not behind him, which meant... Which meant the shots came from across the valley, at a higher or similar height, meaning the road. Had rescue actually arrived?

As he fought the sudden burst of hope that flooded his brain, barking, loud obnoxious, familiar barking impinged on his awareness.

Leaning over to gaze at the ground far below him, he hissed, "Shut up, Deif, you'll give away our position."

Instead of shutting up the semi-tame wolf spun in a circle as if confused as to the source of the response, then once he'd figured it out did his damnedest to try to climb the oak tree as if he'd decided he'd rather be a feline than a canine. He let go a woof of what could only be delight, then proceeded to bark loud enough to wake the dead.

"Oh, you idiot mutt, you trying to get us killed?"

Deif stopped his barking and looked offended, paws dropping back to the snowy ground. He did another circle, tail wagging slowly back and forth like a banner. It was only then that Ray's brain caught up with reality. _Deifenbaker_ stood at the base of the tree they were hiding in. If Deif were here then... "Deif, go get Fraser and bring him here," Ray shouted, never having been so glad to be right in all his life. He'd toss that 'I told you so' at Rynn later, after they were warm and dry and _safe_.

Deif woofed once then took off at a run to find his friend.

"Rynn, the cavalry has arrived." When she didn't respond, Ray shifted her, pulling her back to rest her weight on him. The hand he'd set on her shoulder encountered unexpected warmth. Pulling his hand away in surprise, he discovered it covered in blood. That flinch of hers hadn't been. One of bullets winging its way across the valley had hit her, and she'd never even said a word. Hell, she might have already been out cold when it happened, her existing injuries and the cold driving her into unconsciousness, no matter how dangerous she knew it could be. Hands shaking, and not from the cold, he set fingers against the side of her throat, finding her pulse a slow steady throb that made him sigh in relief and release the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He shifted his hold, turning her head so he could get a good look at her. Dead pale and out cold. Her body temp probably dropping dramatically with every precious drop of blood she lost. "C'mon, sweet thing, wake up for me."

She failed utterly to respond at all.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Ray muttered, torn between leaving and running for help and just holding on, terrified that if he left her alone that she'd go gently into that good night. And there was no way in hell he'd allow that to happen. "Just stay with me, Rynn. Hold on, we're almost out of this."

Deif announced his reappearance with one loud woof, which was quickly followed by a shouted, "Ray," that could only belong to one Benton Fraser.

"Up here." Ray leaned out in time to see the dark encased form (he had to be wearing that dark blue peacoat of his) of Fraser standing at the base of the tree that his crazy mutt was trying to climb again.

Deif woofed twice, to which Fraser responded with, "I can see that, yes. Thank you."

"Rynn's out cold," Ray informed his partner.

"Injured?" Fraser asked, tone oddly diffident.

"Yeah. Concussion and maybe cracked ribs. " _And she's been shot._ He didn't say, though he couldn't forget that one if he tried. He could feel the blood leaking through his fingers at his poor efforts at applying pressure. The angle was all wrong to do little more than warm his hand with the red tide that flowed from her. Somehow, he knew this particular moment was not the time to announce her newest injury. Hell, for all he knew it had been Fraser's gun that had done the damage, though he truly doubted that, the Mountie was a crack shot and would never do something as tacky as _miss_.

"And she climbed a tree?"

Ray winced. He hadn't thought about that at the time. Little wonder she'd ended up in tears and then passed out cold. He could only imagine how much pain his dead lifting her had put her in. "Not much choice. Aren't too many hiding places out here." Fraser remained silent. "You gonna help me get her out of the tree or play statue all night?"

Fraser remained still and silent for another minute and Ray honestly thought the man was contemplating leaving Rynn up there to die, Ray's personal revelation of the night before notwithstanding, when Fraser suddenly jumped, grasping the same branch they'd used to climb up and swung up into the tree effortlessly. Apparently, the silence had been to plan his route up the oak and not a lack of interest in saving the damsel in distress. Fraser stood beside them in mere moments.

He took one look at Rynn's pale and silent face and frowned deeply. "She's been shot," Fraser stated in surprise.

"No shit, Frase. Does it really make a difference at this point?" She was already out cold and seriously injured, they needed to get her out of the tree and to some sort of help, period. End of story.

Fraser sighed heavily. "No, I suppose not."

There was something in his voice, something made Ray eye his friend sharply, but the Mountie had made certain to school his look into a blank one, giving nothing away. "Frase..."

Fraser shook his head. "We need to keep her warm." Making certain his footing was secure, he removed the heavy winter coat he wore, and, with Ray's assistance, draped it about her shoulders and quickly buttoned it up. Only then did he look at Ray. "You're injured."

Ray shrugged. "Been worse," he assured his friend. "How we gonna do this?"

"Carefully," Fraser answered.

"No shit," Ray snorted, amusement warring with irritation. Rynn would be dead weight, complete and total dead weight, and they would need to be mindful of injuries the entire way down, for if they did something exceptionally stupid, like drop her, it would probably kill her, and that would completely ruin their hero cred. Killing the damsel during the rescue would be a faux pas not even they could recover from.

Fraser shifted Rynn allowing Ray to slip out from behind her and stand on a branch to the right of Fraser. Working together, step by slow step, they maneuvered downward. Dividing her weight between them when possible, holding her stoically while the other found a more secure footing when not. Sitting on branches instead of standing where possible, the two of them invading each other's personal space like never before, the few words spoken only for clarification as they worked together seamlessly, the one always seeming to know what the other intended they made their way down the tree. The final drop would be the hardest to accomplish, six feet of air to move a very heavy and unconscious body through. Ray ended up sitting on the branch, back against the trunk, Rynn sideways in his lap, the cold skin of her forehead against his cheek. She was in a bad way and probably only getting worse with their man-handling of her, but there was no choice. It was this or leave her to die. More people wouldn't really make a difference. Yeah, Ray supposed they could have rigged line and tackle and lowered her down in a basket, but by the time that'd been set up she might have lost the fight. This, though surely painful even in her unconsciousness, had been quicker and done as gently as possible.

Fraser hopped off the branch and into the snow below, Dief dancing about him for a moment, before moving to the side at gazing up at the pair still in the tree. Deif was as crazy about Rynn as the two men currently trying to rescue her, which wasn't all that surprising in Ray's opinion. "Now what?" Ray asked, uncertain how to get Rynn out of the tree without dropping her.

"Drop her," Fraser said, moving to stand beneath Ray, arms out before him ready to catch her.

"Fraser, that's-"

"Do you trust me?" Fraser suddenly asked, interrupting Ray's argument.

Ray swallowed hard, unable to not notice the eerie similarity to the conversation he'd had with Rynn just hours ago. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"Then trust me with... Rynn."

The fact that Fraser has used her name, for what in Ray's recollection was the first time ever, said something, something damned important and only firmed his sudden realization that his partner might very well have a thing for the woman currently in his arms. Did it matter? Yes, but not right at this moment. There were more important considerations to deal with first. "It's her left side that's injured."

Fraser nodded and shifted about, so that when Rynn fell from the sky her right side would be up against his body and not the injured left, which would surely put pressure on the damaged ribs and bloodied shoulder that would be less than beneficial to her continued health.

"I'm ready, Ray."

Ray shifted on the branch, twisting, locking his legs underneath and hoping like hell he wouldn't fall out of the damn tree when he leaned over to let her go. His strength was ebbing, the whole damn day crashing down on his shoulders no matter how much adrenalin flowed through his system at that moment. Bending at the waist, arms shaking with the strain of holding her as he leaned forward as low as he dared, trying to reduce the drop to the minimum possible, he released her. His body tried to tip forward, but a quick hand on the branch stopped him. He glanced down in time to see Fraser shift Rynn so that her head rested along his neck, looking tiny and pale against the dark blue of the coat wrapped about her.

"Got her," Fraser assured Ray.

Ray nodded and shifted until lying on his stomach, then lowered himself until hanging from the branch. With a groan he let go, but even prepared with knees bent, he collapsed, landing on his ass in the snow. Deif was there an instant later, warm smelly dog breath in his face, tongue hanging out in either concern or amusement, Ray was pretty certain he knew which. "Hey, Deif," Ray greeted, scratching him behind the ears, "thanks for the assist."

Deif woofed softly, dog breath that smelled oddly like pemmican (though how Ray knew that was beyond him), but for a change he had no interest in shoving the furball away from him. With a grunt of pain, Ray got to his feet. "Which way?"

Fraser tipped his head slightly and took off at a brisk stride, completely oblivious to the deep snow or the weight of the woman in his arms, Ray huffing and puffing to keep up, feeling the need for a long winter's nap about now. His turn in the shelter and sitting up in that tree for god's knew how long had stiffened him up but good and now that the adrenaline had burned off he was feeling every ache, pain, bump, and bruise he'd gotten. Conversation lagged, though questions pummeled the inside of his brain; wanting to know how they'd been found, who had come along and every niggling little detail, but he barely had the air to breathe Fraser was pushing it so hard. So it was with great relief that they encountered the squad of Mounties hog-tying a couple of Buchanan's men near the sad excuse of a camp they'd set up.

Fraser snapped some brisk orders and, within moments, the Mountie version of EMTs had arrived to look over both Rynn and Ray. With them had come, of all people, Welsh, Dewey, and Huey.

Rynn was lowered onto one of those rescue basket things, that had appeared out of seemingly nowhere, while Ray found himself on a stump, being poked, prodded, wrapped in blankets and handed hot cocoa, which tasted like ambrosia after the day he'd had. A steak would have been nice, too, but this would have to do for now.

Welsh hovered, torn between relief and a sense of how-do-you-get-yourself-into-these-situations that Ray had come to expect. Hey, it wasn't like he planned these little adventures. After being deemed among the living and giving his boss a brief rundown of how they'd ended up in this predicament and all other ears wanting to listen in he asked, "How's Rynn?"

"Not good," Fraser replied sitting down next to Ray and handing him another cup of cocoa. "They're sending in a helicopter to medivac her out." He turned to gaze at the woman in question, the EMT's still hovering about her like high visibility vultures. "You'll be going along for the ride, too. Just in case."

Ray shrugged and sipped at the cocoa. "Not necessary, I'll live till we can get there the long way. You go with her."

Fraser shook his head. "Orders. Since she can't wait for the long way - several hours by road - you get the free ride."

They sat in a not-quite-comfortable silence for a several minutes before Ray spoke up again. "I was wondering: how'd you find us so fast?"

"Fast?" Fraser repeated in obvious confusion.

"Yeah, it's only been, what? Sixteen hours or so. I was figuring twenty-four at the earliest, given no one really knew where we were when this day started," Ray explained, turning to meet Fraser's eyes.

"Ray," Fraser began, his look so carefully composed that Ray _knew_ that whatever he was about to hear would be something he really didn't _want_ to hear, "you've been missing two days."

Well, now if that wasn't a surprise.

. . . . .

They'd ended up in some hospital in Sault Ste. Marie, Rynn's guess as to location being on the money and not surprising Ray in the least. He'd fallen asleep on the helo ride, not able to keep his eyes open once warm, fed, and safe, so had no idea how long the flight had actually been. Not short, he knew that much, since he'd felt remarkably rested when woken at their arrival. Rynn had been unloaded as soon as they'd touched down and whisked away into the depths of the building. Dief had tried to follow, but Ray had held him back, earning a glare from the half-breed wolf for it. The idiot canine had jumped into the helicopter at the last possible second, curling up next to Rynn, either of his own free will or as a stand-in for Fraser who wanted to be there, but couldn't be. There was only so much room on the helicopter and most of it had been taken up by the equipment needed to keep Rynn alive until arriving at their destination. Ray had spent time worrying over her, one of her ice cold hands wrapped in his, until exhaustion and his own injuries had dragged him under. He'd been woken when the EMT guy had gently removed his hand from hers to unload her from the copter.

Ray's own departure had been far less dramatic, as he stepped out under his own power, sore as hell, but thankful to be alive. He'd been unceremoniously ordered into a wheelchair, Deif by his side, and rolled down into the depths of the building to be examined in detail, including a full set of X-rays as a precaution. His clothes had been completely trashed, and refusing to wear a ghastly hospital gown when all he really had were some very impressive bumps and bruises, they supplied him with a set of scrubs and gave him a room. He'd remained patient for all of a couple hours, then went hunting down nurses and docs to find out what was going on with Rynn.

All he'd been told was that she was still in surgery and he'd find out more when there was more to be found out. So he returned to his room, tried to watch TV, but the only interesting thing on had been curling, and he was so not going there, then with Deif curled up on the only comfortable chair, he gave in and fell into a restless slumber. Welsh accompanied by two Mounties that weren't Fraser woke him up, needing the details on Buchanan so they could make the arrests stick, which he was more than happy to oblige with. Welsh also had some real clothes for him and informed him that he would be released the next morning with no serious injuries and to relax and enjoy the temporary respite while he could.

This time when Ray asked about Rynn there were no answers, and he could only wonder where the hell Fraser had gone. Deif had stayed with Ray, which meant... possibly nothing, or a hell of a lot. Fraser might not even be here, tying up loose ends or whatever with the RCMPs and the case. He wanted to ask, but the arrival of food swayed him to focus on more immediate needs, the bruised and battered reflection in the mirror reminding him that he had indeed been injured even if the shower - hot, thankfully - had revealed injuries he hadn't even been aware of. He spent most of the day dozing, nurses checking on him every now and then, feeding him when hungry, providing him with pain relief when the aches made him groan with every small movement. That had been the last piece needed, and with the pain dulled to nothing but a mild nuisance, he fell fast asleep.

. . .

Rynn looked awful. Her black hair pulled away from a pale face that matched the color of the pillowcase her head rested upon. Her right cheek sported a dark blue bruise and an oxygen tube marred the normally smooth lines of her face. There were bleeping boxes all around her signifying she was alive at the very least, but not in what specific state of health she currently resided. For all Ray knew she might never get out of that bed again, and that thought shook him to his very core. If nothing else this little adventure had shown him how much he... cared for the woman lying so still and lifeless on the bed before him. And that realization had been what kept him frozen in the doorway of the room. This hadn't been part of the plan. Oh, yeah, he'd had thoughts about her, let's not kid ourselves here, liked her, cared about her if only as a friend, but for it to be more... for him to admit it could ever possibly be more scared him witless. She wasn't Stella, would never be Stella, but he had to be realistic; Stella and he were over, as over as two people who loved (and hated, let's not leave out that, shall we) each other ever could be over. He and Rynn just fit together, a decade separating their ages or not. Just like he and Fraser did. Fit together that is. There were few people he trusted with his life; Fraser and Rynn were two of them.

The very same Benton Fraser who sat in the only chair in the room, red serge draped over the arm, head being supported by one hand, eyes closed in what appeared to be sleep. Well, guess that explained why Fraser hadn't been by to visit as Ray had expected. He'd been watching over the damsel. The damsel that Ray suspected Fraser of... caring about as much or possibly more than himself. Oh, what a fine kettle of fish this was. Deif huffed and shoved his way past Ray's legs, damn near knocking him off balance, and making him wince in pain. The cut across his thigh hadn't needed stitches - barely - but had left him in plenty of pain, he'd be limping for a couple of days at least and was under orders to _not_ tear the healing wound open or sutures would be put in, whether he wanted them or not. He was one big ache from head to toe, but would be all right in a few days with one hell of a story to tell 'round the water cooler once back home at the two-seven.

Deif shoved his nose into Fraser's hand, the one not supporting his head, which caused him to open his eyes and grunt in surprise. "So there you are," he stated, as if it were to be expected. Deif woofed and Fraser yawned, shaking his head. "No, I didn't bring you breakfast as I had no idea where you'd gotten off to."

He gazed about the room, eyes straying first to the machines about Rynn's bed, then to the doorway where Ray still stood, unable to either enter or leave.

"Hey," Ray said with a weak attempt at a smile.

"Should you be up?" Fraser asked, with clear concern in his voice.

Ray shrugged. "Probably not, but I needed to know how Rynn was doing."

Fraser ducked his head. "I stopped by when I arrived, but you were asleep."

Ray contained the sigh of relief he felt knowing that Fraser had stopped by to see him. That he did indeed care.

"I intended to return once you were awake, but I was needed with the Buchanan situation and just got back an hour ago." He nodded towards the bed. "There were some complications during surgery. She almost..." Fraser trailed off, the coolly bored tone dissolving into an emotional one that Ray rarely heard. Oh, yeah, Fraser cared about the damsel; Ray just wished he knew what to do about it.

"She doesn't hate you, you know," Ray found himself saying, much to his surprise.

Fraser sat up straighter. "Why would I think that?" Stiff and starched once again, the momentary spillage of emotions just an odd aberration.

" 'Cause she thinks you feel the same way about her," Ray explained in a quiet voice. Making a decision, he walked into the room, going to the bed and running the fingers of one hand along her pale arm. Her skin was cool to the touch, but alive, so very alive and where there was life, there was hope. Right now he hoped he wouldn't screw up this conversation, because, damn it, this was important... for all of them.

"She's not Victoria, Fraser."

The expected reaction, Fraser stiffening and then handing out a scathing, if polite, denial, never came. Instead, he practically collapsed into the chair, going boneless and tipping his head back to look at the unimpressive ceiling. "I know that, Ray," he finally said, softly, as if afraid to actually admit the truth out loud.

"Then why treat her so... coldly?" Ray asked, intensely curious as to the answer.

Fraser sighed. "Because she's not Victoria."

Ray chuckled softly. "Thought that would be a good thing," he pointed out, hoping to keep the conversation going for a while longer yet. No matter how much he didn't want to know about Fraser and his feelings for Rynn, he needed to know about Fraser and his feelings for Rynn.

"So did I," Fraser muttered, rubbing his forehead as if a headache were building there. "I... I don't want to interfere with... with your relationship." He met Ray's eyes, doing his damnedest to not hide behind that wall of duty and honor, to keep this conversation a simple one between two friends and no more.

Ray shook his head. "There's nothing to interfere with, we're friends, and that's it."

Fraser snorted. "I don't believe that any more than you do."

Ray shrugged, stepping away from the bed to walk across the room and lean against the wall next to Fraser. Deif took the opportunity to jump up on the bed and lay down across Rynn's legs with a soft whine. "She'll be okay, Deif," Ray assured the mutt in an effort to make himself believe it. Then to Fraser, "Yeah, I care about her. So what? We _are_ friends, no matter what else. Just like you and me."

It took a couple minutes, but Fraser nodded. "All right. I'll try to be less... cold with her, but..." he trailed off, clearly not wanting to finish the sentence, and in truth he didn't need to, Ray understood perfectly. "Is this going to be a problem? Between us, I mean."

Ray thought about it, _really_ thought about it before answering. "Nope." And it was the truth as far as it went. Rynn was a big girl and could make up her own mind, and as she'd never made even a hint that she liked either of them _that way_ Ray felt no undue concern that she would become a bone of contention between them. If all that came out of this was Rynn and Fraser sniping at each other a bit less he'd be one very happy camper.

Fraser got to his feet, stretched, then picked up the vibrant red coat, one finger dangling it down his back. He then strode over to the bed, brushed a non-existent hair off her face, and then leaned over to kiss her ever so gently on the forehead. When he stood upright, he looked over at Ray and said, "Good." Then he calmly strode from the room, leaving Ray looking after him in wonder.

Moving to lower himself carefully into the chair, which turned out to be far more comfortable than it looked, he muttered, "Huh."

Deif raised his head slightly and gave a woof of agreement.

.

.

 _finis_


End file.
